


go ahead and laugh (even if it hurts)

by cooperbettycooper



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Sad with a Happy Ending, Suicide, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2019-01-05 12:01:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12189609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cooperbettycooper/pseuds/cooperbettycooper
Summary: “Betty!” Jughead called, as she stood up shakily, her arms holding her stomach as she turned to face him. Her tears had practically frozen trails from her eyes down her cheeks, but she didn’t have the energy to cry anymore. Her chest forced out the air left, bracing herself for the incoming cold, as she watched the glass begin to split under her feet.“I’m sorry,” She mouthed, until freezing water reached its cruel fingers through the hole formed by her own weight, and yanked her down. Viciously. Leaving her screaming and unable to breathe.Suddenly, Jughead couldn’t feel the cold, he couldn’t see the flurries tumbling around them, he couldn’t see Cheryl screaming at the top of her lungs. He wasn’t sure what carried him over the icy expanse of the river, nothing but pure adrenaline muffling the sounds of Cheryl’s screams and reminding him that oh god, he could not live without her.[bughead au, if betty had jumped into the river instead of cheryl.]





	go ahead and laugh (even if it hurts)

**Author's Note:**

> hey, you guys might have known me under a different name before but in case you didn't, hey, i'm ten. 
> 
> i try to avoid long author's notes and i'm aware half of you aren't going to even read this, but when a story talks about suicide, it's important to say this.
> 
> suicide is not the answer. if you're feeling anything like betty is in this story, i'm urging you to get help. romantic love cannot cure mental illness, but I really do think having a strong support system can help you heal and get better. so please, tell someone. reach out to someone who loves you. if you don't have someone, you can reach out to me. 
> 
> i care about each and every one of you with all my heart, and i'd be devastated to hear any of you chose to end your lives, because i promise you there are solutions. 
> 
> i know you hear this all the time, but trust me. it gets better, i've been there.
> 
> here's the suicide hotline > 1-800 273 8255  
> and head over to suicide.org for international resources.
> 
> every life is precious. _that includes yours._

Jughead hadn’t seen Betty for two weeks now.

It was odd, the absence of his girlfriend for so long. Maybe it wasn’t long in the grand scheme of the universe but it sure felt it. As though the universe had just so slightly shifted, throwing only him and no one else off balance, trying very hard to adjust.

After all, Betty was the kind of the person to surprise him with fresh baked cookies on Sunday mornings, and other days she’d come walk his dog for him so he wouldn’t have to worry. She was the kind of person to say _text me when you get home_ and _did you get home safe_ and _did you eat?_

 

One day of absence hadn’t spiked much awareness, but the group chat with all of them had blown up to over 200 messages after a week with no Betty. Yet she hadn’t answered a single text. The _Sad Breakfast Club_ group chat had imploded, how having accumulated at least 200 unread messages, mostly regarding Betty and her sudden radio silence.

 

Jughead wasn’t sure about her school attendance, having left Riverdale High. But she apparently hadn’t shown up to a single class in two weeks, and this was where things began to get alarming. They had all tried stopping by her house to see her at their own turns. Veronica had a box of cupcakes and a bouquet of fresh flowers, Archie with a weak smile, Kevin holding Betty’s missed homework, even Cheryl with the new cheerleading uniforms for their indoor practices, but Alice turned all of them away. She wouldn’t even explain, just shut the door with a curt, rather nonsensical explanation.

Jughead even tried going around the back of the pristine home, and noticed the ladder he often used to climb into her room during cold nights to keep her warm, or to spend a night that ended in muffled moans and sweating between the sheets, was missing. He scaled the lattice framework anyway and was put off by the sight of the window, shut and locked. The curtains were drawn.

Betty never locked the windows.

That night, Cheryl and Jughead laid in the flatbed of the truck, saying nothing but taking some solace in each other’s company.

 

It was a nice feeling, to sit there with Cheryl and take in the absence of stars and a moon over an inky black night. The only source of light came from Cheryl’s cracked phone screen, and the old white tube lights that lined the empty parking lot dedicated to Sunnyside’s residents and their cars.

 

He wasn’t sure why Cheryl always insisted on sitting here. Maybe something about it calmed her. Cold air blew over them, making him want to nuzzle a little deeper into his fleecy jacket. He could notice her breathing steady, and while it didn’t make sense to him, if she needed something to calm her down, hell she deserved it. Soft flurries fell from the early December sky, growing clouds leaving grey wisps and swirls in the blackness overhead. It seemed winter had come early to Riverdale this year.

 

Looking over at her worn face, heavy makeup and red lipstick removed, he felt sorry for her. He may have been dealt a shitty hand, but so did she.

 

Much insanity had gone down between the two of them, amidst the insanity of Jason’s apparent killer reveal. She had slapped him, and her subsequent arson had rattled the town. After all, this was a small town that didn’t leave a thing unsaid.

 

Riverdale’s small gossip columnists had gone wild, with headlines like “Blossom Maple Syrup Heiress Loses Her Mind,” following her remaining family, circling Penelope and Cheryl like a rabid group of vultures. The shame eventually drove Penelope away, when she left town and didn’t come back.

 

Cheryl may have thought _good riddance_ at the time, but she still needed somewhere to live. One more night on the streets and the metaphorical vultures would come pick her bones.

 

This was when Jughead found her behind Riverdale High post cheerleading practice. She starving, homeless, beaten, and alone. Just like he had been. A lone wolf without a pack.

 

So he took her in, where she made herself at home and for once, felt cared for. Cheryl hadn’t had a brother figure since Jason, but somehow, she could get used to this. Jughead soon learned Cheryl and him had a lot in common, both children at heart without a childhood. Caring for Cheryl reminded Jughead of his little sister, and began to patch up that small void in him.

 

Jughead’s worry was rubbing off on her, and Cheryl had come to worry about Betty too. The past two weeks had hurt, but Cheryl had at least somewhat calmed his anxieties. But he still needed to know.

 

He turned to face her before speaking up.

“Cheryl, do you know anything about what’s wrong with Betty?” Jughead asked, his hands resting behind his head.

“No,” She said, chewing on her bottom lip, painted in some red shade. “I haven’t seen her at practice or at school.”

The silence that followed was uncomfortable. Neither of them knew what to say, filled with worry but not wanting to worry each other. It was odd, their dynamic. Both having been told how selfish they were but wouldn’t stop giving to each other and trying not to hurt one another.

 

Before either of them could think much more, their phones pinged with a text. They were both from Betty.

 

“Oh my god,” Cheryl whispered, before sitting up. “Listen to this.”

 

She recited it anyway, even though Jughead couldn’t listen, his ears were ringing violently, unable to absorb the words on his own phone screen.

 

“I love you Cheryl. I know we never talked much, but I want nothing for you to be happy. You’ll be okay, you have Jughead. I’ll miss you, then she wrote in two x’es. What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

 

The cold wind combined with the chilling vibe of her words made the hairs on her arms stand on end. Jughead tugged down on his beanie, cold wind biting through his shearling jacket.

 

His voice was shaky as he read his own text.

 

“Jughead Jones, you’ve made the last bit of my life memorable. I’ll be passing where it all started, I’ll miss you most of all. Thank you for everything, thank you for trying.”

 

Cheryl leaned over his shoulder, but he couldn’t breathe. The cold wind was blowing at her hair, his screen now illuminating his dull face, draining with horror.

 

“You don’t think she’d…” Cheryl borderline screeched, “Would she really?”

He ignored her. “Where it all started is Sweetwater River,” he breathed. “We need to go. Now.”

Jughead and Cheryl both jumped down from the back of the truck, throwing open the front doors and speeding off in the direction of the river that split their town in two.

Jughead couldn’t think. His body was on autopilot and speeding down the road but his mind was anywhere else, with his breath trapped in his throat. He couldn’t even look over to a sobbing Cheryl, who’s mascara stained tears were pouring out by the bucketful.

Why hadn’t he realized the love of his life was drowning? Why wasn’t he there for her? Why didn’t he pay better attention?

Now, all he could imagine was how on Earth he’d ever live without Betty. It felt as though someone took a pair of scissors and cut her out of every little snapshot of their future together. There was a gaping hole in him and he wasn’t sure how to fill the hollow wrongness.

How could she leave him with handfuls of memories and such a horrible goodbye?

He couldn’t let her go. He didn’t want to, he was sure he’d die if he had to. His eyes were locked on the road ahead of them, feeling more and more desperate as he tuned out Cheryl’s sobs, now tapering off, and watched the road turn from paved concrete to dirt, hearing the rushing of the river not far.

The two darted from the truck, sprinting toward the source of the coursing water that was still far too loud for Jughead to deal with. He tried to tune out every sound and look for her, grabbing Cheryl by the wrist as they finally got to the riverbank. His eyes locked on Betty, pounding the glass under her feet with her hands, not making much effect on the frozen layer of the river.

“There!” Her voice screamed shrilly.

Betty was about 15 feet away, her usually glowing hair dull and drained, as though someone had sucked the life out of her. She was wearing a short sleeved shirt and her shorts from cheerleading practice. Jughead could practically see her legs turning blue in the snowy cold air. If this were a movie, perhaps she’d look beautiful through the tragedy, but she didn’t. She looked horrible. She looked empty and desperate, the colour drained from her body. He wondered if she could only see in black and white anymore, judging by her desolate state.

“Betty!” Jughead called, as she stood up shakily, her arms holding her stomach as she turned to face him. Her tears had practically frozen trails from her eyes down her cheeks, but she didn’t have the energy to cry anymore. Her chest forced out the air left, bracing herself for the incoming cold, as she watched the glassy ice begin to split under her feet.

“I’m sorry,” She mouthed, until freezing water reached its cruel fingers through the hole formed by her own weight, and yanked her down. viciously. Leaving her screaming and unable to breathe.

Suddenly, Jughead couldn’t feel the cold, he couldn’t see the flurries tumbling around them, he couldn’t see Cheryl screaming at the top of her lungs. He wasn’t sure what carried him over the icy expanse of the river, nothing but pure adrenaline muffling the sounds of Cheryl’s screams and reminding him that oh god, he could not live without her. Sprinting across thin ice, he dropped to his knees at the hole where she’d fallen through.

“I can’t find her!” He screamed, his voice mangled and his throat ripping itself apart. Cheryl kicked the snow every which way with desperation, noticing a floating form under the water. With every minute that passed, more and more burning, freezing water found it’s way into Betty’s lungs, until she closed her eyes and let the heavy void pull her under. This was it.

“NO!”

Everything after that was red. His eyes were all red, it was all he could see. Red with anger at himself for noticing the signs too late. Red with blood bleeding profusely from his wrists, bone breaking on impact but he didn’t even notice.

"Fuck!" He yelled out, furious with himself for not being able to reach her quicker. Every second that he couldn't get to her, is another second he was closer to losing her.

Finally, the ice underneath him began to crack and he let out a small sigh of relief. He pushed the feeling away though, focusing on getting her out. The crimson blood left his knuckles as he smashed and punched through the ice, ignoring the pain because he deserved it for not helping her until so late.

The red liquid splayed across the frozen water and into the freezing rushing river, where he managed to reach in and lock his fingers around a hand that felt far too cold to be alive. He tried not to focus on how cold her hand is, he tried to remember how warm she usually was. He needed to remember that if he planned on staying sane throughout this. He couldn't freak out. He had to stay strong, not for himself, but for Betty.

With Cheryl’s help, he hauled Betty’s lifeless form from out of the water, bringing her to thicker ice where he rested her down. Feeling the slightest pulse under the cold skin of her neck. It wasn’t much, buts it was enough to give him hope.

"Come on, Betty!" He shouted out at her, as he crossed his hands over each other and began to press down on her chest doing a pathetic job at mimicking a heartbeat. "Come on! Breathe!"

He reached down with his lips to breathe air into her. His hands continued to pump and he kept breathing every ounce of oxygen left into him, trying to replace the river’s cold ice water.

She spit up the water, curling onto her side with her eyes still closed and a weak groan. She was definitely breathing, Jughead could see the heavy rise and fall of her chest with one side to the frozen ice. As he watched her breathe, he felt like he could finally breathe too. Seeing the life slowly come back to her was simultaneously the scariest and most relieving moment of his life.

Ignoring the now searing pain in his hand, he scooped her off the ice, barely feeling her weight as him and Cheryl began walking back to the truck with Betty’s cold body pressed to his and her arms around his neck.

Cheryl opened the back door of the rickety truck, the only sound that rang through the horribly quiet night and the lack of sound that cloaked their town. It felt like they were the only ones awake or alive at the hour. Jughead sat with Betty and Cheryl nodded, a silent agreement for her to drive.

“Fuck, I can’t drive stick,” She said, cursing.

Jughead switched with Cheryl wordlessly, as she sunk into the backseat, holding Betty’s sleepless form with the tightest grip, scared that if she lightened up even the slightest bit, Betty might fall away. She stroked her wet hair absentmindedly, watching as they drove back into Sunnyside’s parking. The streetlamps began to flicker, as they usually did. After midnight, the entire Southside of the town was practically plunged in darkness.

Jughead came back around, wiping his tears on the sleeve of the flannel jacket, before hoisting Betty’s limp body back into his arms, Cheryl shutting the door behind them, and opening the trailer’s entrance. Without a word, he brought her into his bedroom, knees dropping to the mattress as he set her down.

“More blankets?” Cheryl asked, noticing just the one on his bad wasn’t going to be enough to warm her up. “God, Jughead, is your hand broken?”

He winced, trying to shake out the pins and needles feeling but each jerk of the wrist sent more pain into his hand. “Yeah, I think so.”

“We’re going to have to bring both of you to the hospital. Tomorrow though.”

He nodded, petting the top of Betty’s head.

It’s going to be okay. He laid her on her bed, and finally, her eyes began to open up. Jughead wiped at his eyes, not even realizing tears had been falling. How long had he been crying?

“Hey, Betts. You scared me back there.” He smiled at her weakly, squeezing her hand.

She tried to open her mouth and form words, but her tongue felt limp, just like the rest of her. Something was lost in translation between her thoughts and her mouth, so she didn’t even try, settling for a smile instead.

They sat in silence until Jughead removed his fingers from between hers, and put his hand to her forehead, stroking. Even though she’d fallen into a fucking ice river, she was warm, hot, actually. Burning up. He was startled by her loud cough, it was the first sound Betty had made since he picked her up. Feverish and weak, she could barely move enough to get herself comfortable in his bed.

“Betty, do you want to sit up a little?” She shook her head no. “Your clothes are soaking wet. Let me help you change or something.” She couldn’t form words still, so she smiled in his direction, trying to say _yes please_.

“Okay, let's find you something.” He ruffled through his drawers, eventually pulling out a pair of soft sweatpants that were likely small enough to fit her. Looking in the next drawer, he found one of his own shirts, and decided on that. He could attest to it being comfortable, so it seemed like a good choice.

“Betty, can you try sitting up now? Just a little bit,” He urged her. His voice was smooth as silk, and twice as soft, Betty noticed. She liked his voice.

God, everything was so hazy, but her senses were extremely heightened. She noticed how bright the light-bulb was, the smell of the sheets, the wet freezing fabric that chafed between her thighs. Pulling her weight up onto her forearms, she forced her back up against the headboard. She leaned her head back, feeling something stable supporting her for the first time since this whole ordeal. She sighed in relief.

“There you go, that wasn’t so hard!” He tried to sound positive and happy so as to not worry her, but the truth was he was terrified and had no idea how to take care of her. He was at a complete loss.

“T-thanks,” She managed to get out. He smiled at her. “Okay, now let’s deal with your shorts.” He slid the slinky cold fabric off her thin legs, sliding on the sweatpants as a replacement. Anytime he had removed Betty’s clothes in the past, it had been with lustful intention or desire. But for some reason, just taking care of her felt just as nice.

For the first time since those texts, Jughead felt his lip quiver as he began to cry, slow desolate tears that dripped down onto a shirt he didn’t realize was soaked around the neckline from where Betty had attached her soaking arms to around his neck. They shook his core, tears laden with self blame and hatred. He couldn’t believe it had taken him until it was almost too late to notice she’d been feeling this way. The tears were the warmest thing he’d felt since this entire nightmare started.

He was surprised by the strength in Betty’s arms as she threw them around his stomach, as though holding on for dear life, as though one or both of them would disappear if she let go. He smiled at her, pushing her slowly drying hair back a bit as his hand ran up and down the small of her back.

“Betty, I get it if you don’t want to talk about it right now, but,” he feels himself choke on air before continuing. He’d said I love you to her before, but this time the stakes were so much higher. “I love you so much.”

He finds the strength to continue in the small smile that graces her lips, which are returning to their original rosy pink colour. He sat up a bit to face her better.

“You really scared me back there. Please, never do something like that again.”

And suddenly, her lips were on his and he’d never been so thankful in all his life. If there was any greater power that kept her alive, anyone or anything at all, Jughead decided he owed his whole life to it. Her lips felt warm, but her hands were still a bit cold as they rested on his cheeks, cupping his face. She pulled away from him gently, their foreheads still touching. His had his hair plastered to it from stress and sweat (his room was definitely a little stuffy) and hers were still tainted by the occasional drop of water that rolled down from her hair. She definitely didn’t have the energy to cry anymore, but Betty could feel his salty tears rolling down, even one touching her lip.

The salty taste makes her erupt in a giggle, and suddenly, she’s seeing the world with childlike wonder again. It feels like she’s noticing the 3 moles on his cheek for the first time, her lips parting in amusement. His face looked round and soft, his hair looked shiny, her hand going up to tug gently on the little fishhook curl that hung over his forehead, too short to push back but too long to stay in place. His eyes were like a washed out green, the colour a worn out sweater would take on after being run through a washing machine one-too-many times. Yet somehow, they sparkled under the ugly lighting of the trailer. There was an entire world within him, just begging to be explored, and suddenly she can’t remember why she’d ever wanted to leave.

His cheeks are flushed and pink, not saying a word as she touches his face in weird ways she hadn’t before, as though she was seeing him for the first time -- really seeing him. When Betty’s done drinking in every small detail, he noticed her teary eyes and smile had a twist to it, like a child trying not to weep. He found an unexpected laugh come up, her own soon joining his in the otherwise silent bedroom.

They laughed until their stomachs hurt, not even knowing what on earth was so funny that they were in this state. It was bizarre, really. To an outsider looking in, someone who knew Jughead had just saved Betty from an untimely fate, his hand still broken in two places, it would be ridiculous that the two were even capable of smiling. He wiped at her tears before kissing her forehead, the two now lying down side by side.

“I’m so sorry,” Betty’s voice broke the peaceful silence that was the two revelling in the afterglow of the first truly happy moment they’d had in months.

“Don’t be sorry,” Jughead tells her gently. “Just talk to me next time.”

He tried to adjust and make himself more comfortable, but instead ended up cursing at his broken hand, still radiating pains from each little splinter of the bone. Betty’s face scrunched up in sadness, knowing it was because of her stupid decision his hand was in such a state anyway. He yelled for Cheryl, who came in and offered him some painkillers, before telling Betty she was glad she was alive and well, before retreating to the living room with eyes laden of tears and sympathy.

Feeling the medication take effect, he climbed under the blanket, and the two fumbled around until they found an arrangement in the bed that allowed Jughead to throw an arm over Betty’s waist without hurting the broken hand that would definitely need to see a doctor the next day.

For the first time, even as her eyes close, Betty saw the world in bursting beautiful colour again, and wondered to herself what possessed her into thinking she could leave Jughead behind.

 

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr: cooperbettycooper.tumblr.com
> 
> a comment or kudos would make my heart grow three sizes <3
> 
> thank you for reading :)


End file.
